


Redamancy

by gooddaysunshine



Series: Hatchetfield Happies [3]
Category: Black Friday - Team StarKid, The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Implied Sexual Content, idk this is really just straight fluff, like sugary goodness, literally no one dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:48:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23917033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gooddaysunshine/pseuds/gooddaysunshine
Summary: (English): the act of loving the one who loves you; a love returnedBack on my nonsense. Taking a little detour from Zweisamkeit: what if Paul stayed after the Halloween party in 2003?Little snap shots of another road they might have taken. This is a standalone piece, so if you don't feel like delving into my crazy brain posting so much stuff all the time, you can feel free to saddle up for some flufftastic goodness.
Relationships: Paul Matthews/Emma Perkins, Tom Houston/Jane Perkins
Series: Hatchetfield Happies [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1699126
Comments: 33
Kudos: 61





	Redamancy

**Author's Note:**

> So hi everyone! This is a little thing based off of a thing I wrote in Zweisamkeit. I included a lot of that in the beginning just changed it a little bit where that chapter ends to have our good boi Paul stay. I just felt like we needed some like str8 up fluff and I wanted to write Jane. So here we are. Enjoy, friends!

The music was loud and air thick with the smell of B.O., tequila, and weed. Emma sat at the edge of the living room, hanging out the window to ash her cigarette into the bushes lining the front of the house. She wasn’t even sure whose party it was. Maybe it was the Rogers girls’ house? She wasn’t entirely sure how she ended up there or even got in honestly. Linda and Lillian both hated her. Maybe it was her Halloween costume that made a clever disguise. Maybe everyone else was as drunk as she was.

The cool air was a relief on her burning hot cheeks. She hadn’t even realized how hot her face was. How much did she drink at that first party? Kevin’s house, right? Kevin Miller from theatre? She was pretty sure that’s the place where they started. Ducking her head back into the house, she peered around the room with one eye closed in an attempt to stop seeing double. Her surroundings didn’t look familiar, and Gary was nowhere to be found. It figured that he would ditch her. He was already detaching himself, hellbent on law school while she had no goals. She couldn’t blame him.

Waving him off with a very heavy, clearly uncoordinated hand, she ducked back over the back of the couch to lean out the window again. She was very drunk. Usually, she didn’t get that drunk especially when she was going to be out of the house, but something had come over her. Maybe it was the thought of everyone leaving in eight months. Maybe it was the fact that Jane was excelling in college, just another thing she would never achieve. Maybe it was the music choice being a mixture of No Doubt and Blink-182 all night. Had it been just those two bands? She couldn’t remember tuning in enough to hear anything else. Just Mark Hoppus crooning about missing someone. Not party music in the slightest. She took a long drag off her cigarette.

As if some musical god was watching over her, Dispatch blared over the surround sound speakers that were set up around the house. She shot a single finger gun up at the sky in an effort to thank the merciful music god who had taken pity on her while she pitied herself. There she was. Drunk on Halloween. Just a few days shy of turning eighteen. Alone. That’s how it usually went, though. She’d end up alone one way or another. She inhaled deeply on the cigarette again.

Her parents hated that she smoked. It was a bad habit she picked up at sixteen and had yet to kick. All her clothes and her bedroom smelled like a cross between a chain smoker’s house and a skunk. Weed was more difficult to sneak in because, although Jane gave up on giving her a hard time about the cigarettes, the illegality that came along with marajuana was a different story. With Jane away at school, however, she spent a lot of late nights sprawled out on the roof that hung over the back porch just outside her bedroom. Joint in hand, staring up at the sky. Wondering what else could possibly be waiting outside of Hatchetfield.

“Hey… are you okay?”

The voice behind her startled her out of her drunken trance. Jumping, she smacked her head hard against the window pane. If she hadn’t been as drunk as she was, the impact might have hurt more in the moment, but as it was, all she did was groan as she backed herself back into the living room. Staring down at her was an impossibly tall guy wearing a grey blazer and an eyepatch. Maybe he wasn’t that tall. She couldn’t tell. The room was spinning, she had just hit her head, and she was pretty sure there might have been two of him in her sight. Nonetheless, she didn’t recognize him. “‘M fine,” she grumbled, rubbing the back of her head. “The hell are you supposed to be? A pirate going f’r a job interview?”

The pirate smiled, eyebrows raised in both shock and concern. “Are you sure you’re okay?” She closed one eye to look up at him, which caused the eyebrows to immediately furrow. With her one eye squinted, she still didn’t recognize him. Perhaps it was because of the eye patch, but she didn’t think so. She was fairly certain she had never seen this pirate before in her life.

“Yeah,” she said, opening her other eye once again. “But what’re you s’posed t’be?”

He looked down at his costume before pointing a double finger gun in her direction. “I’m Number Two from Austin Powers,” he explained. “Found a pinky ring and a watch and everything.” He seemed genuinely proud of his low effort costume. While she wasn’t as impressed with him, at least he tried. “And you’re… Margot Tenenbaum?”

“Th’one and only adopted daughter herself,” she replied as she knocked a long build up of ash off of her cigarette while the other hand gestured down her long thrift shop fur coat. She went to take another drag only to find that she had hit the butt. Muttering something incoherent to herself, she flicked the butt out the window and looked back up at the guy. “Hey, Number Two, can… _you…_ tell me whose house we’re at right now? ‘Cause my friend bailed I think and I gotta figure out how sober I gotta get t’walk home.”

“Uh,” he began, making it painfully obvious he didn’t know where he was either. He fished a small piece of paper out of his pants pocket. “Um.” His eye squinted as he tried to read the small writing. “Lillian Rogers’s house? Does that sound right?”

One of her hands shot up in the air victoriously. “Allllllriiiiiiiiight!” she whooped. “Just a couple more cigs an’ I’ll be good t’go!” She leaned forward to try and high five him even though he didn’t realize that’s what she was going for, but she miscalculated and fell directly into his crotch. “Oh shiiit,” she laughed, backing away and patting his thigh. “Sorry, Number Two. Didn’t mean t’do that.”

His cheeks were tinged pink as he scratched the back of his neck. “It’s okay,” he insisted, chuckling. Very uncomfortable. Maybe she was just drunk, but Number Two was kind of cute. “Do you want me to drive you home? I haven’t had anything to drink, and my car isn’t parked in… I don’t think.”

“Nah,” she insisted. She patted his leg again as she stood up from the couch, the jungle juice from Kevin’s rushing back into her head. Her hand reached out for his arm to steady herself. “I live a couple blocks from here. I’ll just walk back.” When she took her hand off of his upper arm, she tested out her balance. She felt almost like one of those crazy arm balloon guys that they put up outside car dealerships. Like she could completely go off balance if the wind blew too fast.

He reached out and grabbed her arm this time to keep her from falling over. “Can I walk you home at least?” he offered. The hand lingered there. She stared right into his chest. It was warm in the house despite the cold October air pouring through the window she left open. Likely because she was drunk. Or maybe because of the fur coat. But she did like looking up at Number Two’s two faces. Even with the eye patch, she was pretty sure she liked his face.

“Okay.”

Actually getting out of the house was a struggle. There were drunk teenagers everywhere. Some half clothed. Some fully clothed and covered in their own vomit. A couple lay on the floor, tangled up in each other, lips fully locked. When she attempted to step over them, she nearly fell forward. His hands reached out and caught an elbow and a hand on the opposite arm. “Oh my gooooodddd,” she shouted as he helped her over the couple making out. When he made his own way over, she smacked him on the chest. Probably harder than she meant to. He winced at the contact. “I _loooovvvveee_ this song!” _Short Skirt Long Jacket_ by Cake played over the speakers while a loud crash and the sound of breaking glass sounded from somewhere deeper in the house. “Number Two, don’t ya like this song?”

“Yep,” he answered quickly almost as if he didn’t care about the song in question. They made their way past a few lingering people dressed in Scream and Betty Boop costumes through the front hall before bounding out into the night air. “Oh thank god,” he muttered under his breath.

“Ohhhh maaaan!” she yelled out into the quiet suburban neighborhood. Luckily it was Halloween on a Saturday night. Otherwise her volume might have caused an issue. To be fair, she was a little too inebriated to care. She powered forward out onto the sidewalk with her arms wide open. Behind her, she could hear his footsteps increasing their pace to catch up with her. Stopping for a moment, she turned to face him. “Y’know, Number Two, it’s my birthday on Tuesday.”

He tucked his hands into his pockets again. “Oh, happy birthday?” he replied, unsure of what she was going for. He was nervous. She wasn’t used to making people nervous. Frustrated, yes. Angry, for sure. But not nervous. Even with her vision blurred, she could see the pink lingering on his cheeks. On both faces that graced her vision. He lifted up the eyepatch to rest on the side of his forehead.

“Two eyes?” she exclaimed with a huge grin on her face. “That’s great, man!” They continued down the street. Over each crack in the cement, she took an exaggerated step over. And each time, she could have sworn she saw his arms reaching out to grab her in case she fell. Once they were far enough away from the house that the music had become a distant memory, she glanced over at him. This time her own hands found themselves in the pocket of the fur coat, which sort of smelled like mothballs and regret. “Thanks, though.”

He looked down. “For what?” he asked. His voice was earnest. Like he didn’t know what she was talking about. Honestly, she didn’t know exactly what she was thanking him for either. For the birthday wishes? For checking to see if she was okay? For walking her home? Any of the above would work, but she stayed quiet for a moment regardless.

“Th’ happy birthday,” she decided. Another big step over a crack sent her hurdling in his direction. Right into his side actually. “Oops.” He was warm and smelled like laundry detergent and boy’s deodorant. Rather than stumbling in the other direction, she stayed up against him, allowing him to prop her up. “No one’s gonna celebrate it with me. I’m turnin fuckin _eighteen_ and no one gives a _shit._ ”

“I’m, um, sorry… Margot,” he said softly. His arm was braced against her back, holding her upright, as they turned down a side street. “That really sucks.”

“Yeah,” she concurred. “Yeah, it does, and y’know what? I’m gonna get out of this shithole town. I’m gonna run so fuckin far away no one’s gonna even remember my name. ‘Cause fuck ‘em. That’s why.”

“Fuck ‘em,” he chuckled in agreement. She liked how it felt leaning against him. If they had been back at the party, she might have made a move on him. Then again, she had no idea who he was. Even without the eyepatch, she was fairly certain she didn’t know who he was. 

With a heavy lean, she turned them onto her street. Shady Lane. She wondered if maybe he was looking to take advantage of her. Maybe he was one of those murderers who looked ridiculously young but was really forty. “Are you gonna kill me?” she asked, leaning harder into him.

“What? _No!_ ”

“Hmm… sounds like somethin a murderer would say.”

“What?!” She giggled hysterically, smacking his chest as an indication that she was fucking with him. He let out a breath that she didn’t realize he was holding. “Okay.” She liked making him nervous. “Okay.” Oh shit. Did she make him too nervous? Was he a robot? Oh god, was he short circuiting. “Okay.”

Her road was quiet. Houses were all dark. Neighbors were sleeping. The dogs of the neighborhood didn’t even bother with them. It took her until a few houses down from hers to realize she had wrapped her own arm around his back. There was something very _Moonstruck_ about the moment. Walking down cold, quiet streets under a full moon. Arms wrapped around each other. Although she was fairly certain Cher didn’t have crispy bleached-from-a-box hair, overly plucked eyebrows, and eyeliner smudged down to her cheekbones. “Hey, Number Two?”

“Yeah?”

“Do ya wanna make out when we get to my house?”

His entire body tensed up at her question. “I’m sorry. What?” he responded, higher pitched than before.

“You? Make out? With me? Yes or no?”

“Uh.” He hesitated, his hand at her outside shoulder squeezing in and out of a fist. “Okay.”

“Suh-weeeeet,” she cheered, breaking away from him. “This is me. C’mon.” She hurried through the side of the yard, beckoning him to follow, which he did of course. A wooden gate stood between them. She was a number of inches shorter than the fence, but he was able to see clear over it. He was ten feet taller than her. Well, at least a foot, but who was counting? Not her. She wouldn’t even know what numbers meant if she looked at them. Her stomach churned looking at him. “You hafta reach over and the lock is like one a’ the ones in a bathroom stall.” With ease, he reached over and unlocked the gate. “Amazing. You’re goddamn amazing, Number Two!”

They both moved through the yard towards the back. She hadn’t felt so excited in a long time. The feeling of her stomach doing flips was forgein to her. God, she didn’t want it to end. She could feel her gut in her chest. In a moment, she almost turned to him, but something hit her. It wasn’t excitement stirring in her belly. It was definitely vomit. She dropped to her knees by a bush next to the stairs and (literally) spilled her guts. The alcohol was too heavy in her brain to have pulled back the coat, but she hoped that the splash wasn’t far enough to hit the fur. There was a hand at her back. Luckily, her hair was so damaged by the impromptu bleach job and cut into a bob that she didn’t need someone to hold her hair back. Though, she had a hunch he would have

With the back of her hand, she wiped the bile and stale rum off of her lips and looked up at him. “Here, gimme a boost,” she whispered. She stumbled to her feet and pointed up at the overhang. “I snuck out, so I’ve gotta go… this way.” Glancing back and forth between her and the sky, he sighed and bent down for her to climb clumsily onto his shoulders. He stumbled, and this was definitely the most uncomfortable thing they had done all day. It was like she was walking on stilts, trying to line herself up with the edge of the roof. “Hell yeah,” she quietly cheered as she made contact with the roof. Her legs flailed and clambered onto the roof next to her open bedroom window. 

Before he could get a word in, her head popped over the edge as she laid flat out on her stomach. “Oh Jesus Christ,” he gasped, a hand flying to his chest. 

“I’ll hafta let you in through the back door, but gimme a sec and we’ll be golden!” With that, she disappeared through her bedroom window.

That left Paul to stand in the grass just off the back porch attached to the house of a girl he just met at a party. He hadn’t ever even been to a party. Not a real one at least. Now here he was seeing a weird movie cliche playing out before his eyes. Some very drunk girl wanted to makeout with _him._ He really figured it had to be a joke, so there was no real reason for him to be standing out in the grass at what felt like three AM. It was getting colder and the fact that he didn’t have a real jacket was becoming painfully obvious. He shivered, wishing he had told her to just go to bed and then walked back to his car, because it was clear that she had passed out before getting down to let him in. Who the hell did he think he was? This kind of thing didn’t happen to him.

“Hey,” a not so quiet whisper cut through the quiet of the night. To his shock, she was standing there, but she had ditched the fur coat and some of the eyeliner was successfully wiped off. She was small, which shouldn’t have been a shock considering how easy she was to lift onto the overhang outside her bedroom. Her striped dress hung loosely around her body, making her look more like a child than someone his own age. The damaged blonde hair was pulled back into a tiny half ponytail, revealing a sharp jawline. From what he could see in the glow of a distant light in the house, she definitely had drunk vision on because she was much cuter than anyone he had even thought about being into. “Number Two, c’mere!”

Much to his surprise, he followed her direction with haste. _Get a grip, Paul._ The house was much smaller than his own. Almost cozier. Almost. There was something uncomfortable about the house. Suffocating maybe. But his thoughts were pulled from the house when she grabbed his hand. His stomach flipped and then immediately dropped when she tripped loudly over a wooden crate filled with throw blankets. He was ready to run at the first sound of footsteps upstairs, but nothing came. She laughed quietly. “Oh _shit_ , you should see your face,” she jabbed, pushing his chest with her free hand. “‘S fine. Dad’s got the graveyard shift and won’t be back ‘til later in the morning, and my mom _definitely_ took an Ambien last night… that’ll put’er out at least ‘til nine. So we’re golden, pony boy!”

The stairway was narrow, and she was clumsy walking up the stairs. For whatever reason, he felt almost giddy to be following her. Holding her hand. About to be kissed by some girl he just met. Maybe more. He could see a gentle curve to her butt as he trekked up behind her. He swallowed hard, willing himself to keep it together for a while longer. Her bedroom was at the end of the hall. It was a nightmare of a mess. Clothes everywhere. On the floor. Spilling out of open drawers. Pens and bottles filled with liquids and lotions scattered across the top of her dresser. Pictures taped onto the mirror that sat above the overfilled dresser. A string of white Christmas lights were hung around the perimeter of her room, giving the whole room a soft yellow glow. CDs scattered across the floor beside what looked to be a second hand stereo system. That’s where she drifted off to.

“What do you wanna listen to?” Her words were a little less slurred than when he was walking her home. She looked over her shoulder at him, grinning. “Come here, and choose some fuckin mood music, Number Two.” 

Despite that not being his name, he obliged, sitting cross legged beside her as he shrugged his grey jacket off. He haphazardly folded it before looking for a place to put it. It seemed like the floor was the prime place for clothing, so he gently placed his jacket there. When he turned back to her, she was watching him with an amused look on her face. “What?” he questioned. She shook her head and looked back at the CDs splayed out on the floor. _“What?”_

Her eyes dragged back up to them. They were dark and enticing. Warm. Familiar even. Even though his face was burning pink, he liked how she looked at him. “You’re cute,” she said clearly. Much less of a hint of drunkenness, which comforted him in a way. She still was very drunk, but at least as the alcohol began to fade, she still seemed to want him there. “Hey, what’s your name, Number Two?”

“Paul.”

“Hi, Paul,” she responded, grin growing across her lips. “I’m Emma.” They browsed her music collection in silence. Pondering whatever music would soundtrack the next… however long. His heart was racing in his chest. Pounding loudly in his head. There was no way he was going to be able to pick out any music, though he would have to remember later that she appeared to have really great taste. “How do you feel about Cake, Paul?”

“Great,” he spat out, relieved that she had made a choice. Not a terrible one at that. A questionable choice to fool around to, but a fine band nonetheless.

“See, everyone loves _Nugget,_ but I gotta say _Prolonging the Magic_ \--” she waved around the CD case in her hand before popping the disc out and into the stereo, “--is the superior album. Like… _so fucking good_.” Her index finger pressed into the play button, a whirring noise leaving the machine. Then John McCrea softly crooned over the speakers. He could barely hear the song over his heart pounding in his ears. He did notice her hop up and less than gracefully flop onto her bed. She whistled at him, causing him to look back at her over his shoulder. “Coommmeee on, Paul!”

As he climbed up onto the bed to lay next to her, he was pretty sure he must have been going into cardiac arrest. Or maybe he was having a panic attack. One of those he was familiar with and the other was he was pretty sure was happening. He supposed that dying next to a pretty drunk girl wasn’t the worst way to go. They laid beside one another, nose-to-nose. Her breath tickled his face. Cigarettes, alcohol, and spearmint. Had she brushed her teeth when she first got inside. “Can I tell you something, Emma?” he asked. His breath caught in his throat with her body scooting closer to his. They were so close. Close enough that if he just tried to readjust to be more comfortable they’d be touching.

“Go for it,” she replied while her eyes searched up and down his face. It made his heart skip a beat.

“I’ve, um… I…” his words trailed off, getting stuck in his throat. He had just been plain old Paul when Ted dragged him out to that party. Ted was trying to get into Linda’s pants and claimed he needed a wingman. He wasn’t sure why he even still hung around with Ted. He was going off to college the following fall anyway. Though, given his current situation, he was sending a silent thank you for Ted being a horny bastard. But it didn’t stop his nervousness from seeping from his brain and into his gut. He hadn’t ever had a girl even look twice at him, let alone want to makeout with him. “I’ve never, um, done, uh, _this.”_ He figured this would be the nail in his coffin. It would be awkward, but he would slink out the back door and think about her every once in awhile for a very long time. That would be that.

“Oh Jesus, that’s _it?”_

Well, he didn’t expect that. “Uh, yes?” he said, more as a question than anything else. “Was there supposed to be something else?”

“No, I just thought you were gonna say you had a girlfriend or something.” It was his turn to laugh. “What? You’re cute and then got all fucking weird and awkward on me.”

“I look like the homeless guy from _Big Daddy_ on a good day, but thanks for trying to flatter me.” Her laugh reminded him of bells. Something magical and musical. “No, I’ve… never had… y’know… one of those.”

“Jesus Christ,” she muttered, grabbing his cheek and pulling his lips onto hers. He had no idea what a first kiss was supposed to feel like, but every single chick flick he’d gotten glimpses of as his brothers brought their various girlfriends through the house told him it was something like this. Like the world was simultaneously exploding around him and being built anew. She found his hand without breaking away and placed it onto her waist. Her body was warm and fit nicely next to his. Suddenly he didn’t hate how long he was. He liked how small she felt next to him. She pulled her lips away from his but kept her eyes closed, a tiny smile perched on her lips. “You could always ask me out on a date.”

His eyes shot open. “What?” was all he could muster.

“I really wanted to see _Kill Bill_ , and I’m free on Friday.”

“You barely know me, Emma.”

“Well, you could have had your way with me because I am still _pretty_ drunk, but instead you sat here all nervous like a fucking nerd. I’m pretty sure you’re harmless.” She cracked one eye open. “Also you’re cute as hell, and you’ve got the fuckin nicest lips ever. What the fuck?” Her thumb ran across his lower lip.

Regardless of the anxiousness he still felt inside, he leaned back in tentatively at first and then the quiet strumming in _Guitar_ gave him just enough courage to cup her cheek and kiss her again. He knew it wasn’t a very good kiss if they were going just on technical skill. The feeling of kissing her was more incredible than his anxiety was loud, so he went for it. She smiled against his lips. He smiled back.

“Will you go on a date with me, Paul?”

“Um, yes. I’d like that.”

\--------

He did not like musicals, but she seemed to like them enough. She liked them enough to be in one. Well one for each year of high school. When they started dating, he hadn’t realized she was into theater. It wasn’t until a month in that he saw the picture with the cast of 2003’s _Brigadoon_ in it that he realized he had, in fact, seen her before the night of the Halloween party. When Sycamore High School decided it was a good idea to ship students over to Hatchetfield High’s production of the show to try and make up for the fact that they didn’t have their own theater department. He did not like that show. He did not like musicals.

That certainly didn’t stop him from watching her prep for the show. Even going over lines with her. He did feel a little strange when the wolf came in and gave off very creepy middle-aged man vibes, which he let her know over and over again. She rolled her eyes and whacked him upside the head with her script. Grumbles followed, muttering something about how he was right.

What he wouldn’t tell her was that he didn’t _hate_ the show exactly. He didn’t like it very much because it was a musical, which he really just detested, but he did like seeing her. And also her older sister sat next to him and stared directly at him to gauge his reaction. Jane made him very nervous. She was nice and had such a fierce love for her sister he was almost jealous. It was something he never had with his own brothers. 

Nonetheless, Jane was much more intimidating than Mr. Perkins who was distant at best. He had been made to think that a girl’s father was who he should have been fearing, but that was a lie. It was the older sister. He tried his very best to keep from fidgeting under her watchful eye. Each time he moved, the cellophane in his lap crinkled, making him more self conscious with each fidget. 

When Emma bounced her way onto the stage, he found himself smiling. She was like a little ray of sunshine, which was odd for her. Nothing about the person up on that stage read as Emma, who was normally a little mean and snarky. He loved that about her, but he was intrigued by the girl who traipsed about the stage during the scene with that wolf man, who was arguably as creepy as he figured he would be. It seemed to be a completely different human up there. That was the point of acting, he figured. Still, he really did secretly enjoy himself and even laugh at some of the jokes pulled on stage. Specifically when she kept following people around wielding a prop knife in the second act. Right before fucking everyone started dying. He thought it was a show about fairy tales, but it got creepy and dark really fast.

“How’s school going, Paul?” Jane asked as they waited in the hall outside the auditorium. They both leaned up against the plant display in the main entranceway. Well, he leaned. She had hoisted herself up onto the ledge to sit beside him. She was almost done with her freshman year at college, but she drove home for the weekend so she could go see the show. Such a supportive big sister. To her surprise, she was sitting with him. The surprise was less about him and more because he was still around.

The morning after the Halloween party, Jane had burst through Emma’s door without knocking. In her defense, it was nearly noon. Horrified, she had slammed the door shut behind her, for in her little sister’s bed was a shirtless boy and her sister just in her underwear. Nothing scandalous happened in the night. Well, nothing _too_ scandalous. That was where the fear of her was really instilled into him. She looked like she was going to murder him right on the spot before Emma convinced her about the happenings of the night prior. There was a lot of gesturing at her bra and underwear clad body. To follow up, she ripped the blankets off of him to show he was still in his jeans. 

Jane had yet to not give him a hard time since her surprise weekend trip home.

“It’s fine,” he responded, shrugging. “I don’t know if I’m going to actually pass AP calc. It’s really tough. Everything else is okay.”

“AP calc, huh? Smarty pants,” she teased, poking his side. “I think you’ll be fine. I almost failed my last quarter but pulled it out of my ass by the end.” In that moment, he could see where she and Emma were related. A dash of mischief and snark passed through her features. Her grin was filled with sarcasm and wit. “Anything else going on? Colleges?”

“Yeah, I have a few in mind,” he told her. The sinking feeling in his stomach started. The schools he had initially wanted to go to were all the way across the country. He hadn’t really wanted to stay nearby, but he knew it wouldn’t work with Emma if he left, which really put a damper on things because he _really_ wanted to see how things would go there. “I don’t really have my heart set on one, though. I--” 

He was cut off by a nudge to the ribs. Jane pointed toward the hall where the cast of the show was dispersing into the crowd. She was easy to spot with the bright red hood and little brown braids down the sides of her head. Also the smile on her face could have blinded the sun. She scooted through the crowd of people, ignoring distant comments congratulating her on her performance. Of course, she greeted her sister first. “Hey,” she laughed, giving Jane a one-armed hug. “You made it.”

“I thought about skipping out on you to go on a date, but I decided I’d rather go back to high school,” Jane joked. Emma shoved her shoulder in response. A fake punch to Emma’s gut came next. Followed by a slow motion slap to Jane’s face. They were weird, but they laughed at the end of their shenanigans. He didn’t have to get it. They were happy. “You did great, peanut. Killed it up there.”

“You really did,” he chimed in, not looking to take the attention off of Jane but successfully doing just that. His face felt flushed. Unsure of what else to do, he held out the bouquet of flowers in his hand to her. “I know you’re not really a flowers kind of person, but I think this is what people normally do at these things and--”

“This is very sweet,” she said without looking up from her flowers. The grin was still plastered on her face. “Thanks, Paul.” She pushed up onto her toes to kiss his cheek. Jane whooped in the background. “Shut the fuck up,” she groaned. Looking over her shoulder, Jane stuck her tongue out. “Y’know what? Fuck off, J.” Once again, she craned her neck up to him, pulling his face down to hers to lay one big kiss on the lips.

This time whoops came from theater nerds in the lobby. “Perk, is that the guy?” a girl’s voice shouted through the chatter. He was pretty sure that was whoever played one of the evil stepsisters. “He _is_ tall.”

“Yeah, this is the Sycamore boy!” she shouted back as her hands moved from his cheeks to the sides of his neck. “This is my tall Timberwolf boyfriend!” He raised one hand to the girl who was shouting across the room. The girl shot back two thumbs up.

His attention returned down to her. “Boyfriend, huh?” he questioned. The past few months they had been seeing each other. Mostly just hanging out on the floors of their respective bedrooms listening to blink-182 and Nirvana while they occasionally made out. Sometimes they’d hit the diner or go to a movie. He visited her now and then while she worked an after school cashier gig at one of the thrift stores in town. But there was never a label put in place. Always just hanging out. Seeing each other. Going on dates.

She shrugged coyly. “Yeah, sure. I guess,” she replied, eyes darting up to him with a smirk on her lips. “Think you can handle that, punk?”

“I think I’ll manage.” She shot a double finger gun in his direction, holding the flowers in the crease of her elbow. There was something radiant about her that night. Happy. Glowing. He felt like the Grinch with his heart growing three sizes. Leaning in close to her ear, he made his embarrassing admission: “Don’t tell anyone, but I kind of liked the show.”

The look on her face when he backed away said that she was absolutely going to tell everyone. He didn’t really care, though. She could tell whoever she wanted if she wanted to call him her boyfriend again.

\--------

_“Paul, I don’t want to be here anymore.”_

“Emma, come on it can’t be that bad.”

_“It is. I fucking hate it here, and my roommate won’t stop fucking playing fucking Gwen Stefani. I liked Gwen before, but now I think I’m going to have to kill her.”_

He smiled down at his notebook, his Nokia phone pressed between his ear and his shoulder. “Well, don’t murder anyone. That’s really not a great idea. You’d probably get an even worse roommate.”

_“I just… don’t think I’m cut out for this shit.”_

“Why do you say that?”

_“I don’t know. I’m just not fucking smart enough to be here--”_

Sighing, he dropped his pen down onto the paper. “You know _that_ isn’t true.”

_“Yes, it fucking is. I just don’t want to be here. I’m not fucking Jane. I’m not good at this… whole thing, but I can’t stay in Hatchetfield my whole fucking life. I feel like I’m crawling out of my fucking skin, Paul.”_

“What can I do for you?” he asked, voice soft. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb. “Do you want me to come to you this weekend?”

_“You don’t have to do that. You don’t… need to take care of me. I just need to fucking vent. Because I hate everything here. I hate my fucking roommate. I hate my fucking dorm. I hate my fucking classes. Like, I fucking hate all fucking science. What the hell am I doing here?”_

“Have you thought about what I said last week?”

_“Yeah, well, I don’t know what I like, Paul.”_

“You like things. You like art and you really liked doing all that theater stuff--”

_“Yeah, I’ll go to school for fucking theater while you’re off getting a math degree.”_

“Listen, I don’t like theater, and I can’t draw to save my life. We don’t have to do the same thing, Em. I’m just saying you should think about it, okay? No choices. Just think about it.”

_“... okay. Fine.”_

“Good.” He paused, listening to her rifle around stuff in her room. “You excited to watch a shit ton of bad movies over Thanksgiving?”

_“Hell yes. I am. Nothing sounds better than a nice glass of your stupid dad’s expensive fucking booze and a bad movie.”_

He leaned back in his desk chair, running a hand through his hair. “I think you might be onto something there because that sounds amazing.”

_“I may or may not miss you. Jury’s still out on which one it is, though.”_

“Well, I do miss you.”

_“Fucking neeeeeeerrrrrddddd.”_

“I am knee deep in vectors and derivatives, so kind of I guess.”

_“I love it when you talk dirty.”_

“I…” his voice trailed off, rethinking his words. “Nevermind.”

_“What?”_

“I don’t know.” That wasn’t true. He knew exactly what. His gaze drifted across the room. Next to his bed was a _Jurassic Park_ movie poster. A few pictures from high school. Some with Ted and his various flings. A couple with friends he had already lost touch with before high school graduation. One stuck on the wall right beside his pillow. A picture he thought he would never have. An uncomfortably posed photo with Emma and him in formal wear. Him in a suit, a little long and a little big for him. Her in a red dress, her hair pulled back away from her face. He couldn’t believe he had gone to prom. “Actually, Em. Can I tell you something?”

_“I guess, but then I’d like to go back to talking about doing fucking nothing. That was good.”_

“I love you.”

\--------

“Look at us,” she chirped as she scooped lo mein into her mouth. “Fucking college graduates in our own place. Only one bedroom and basically half a kitchen. We fucking did it. We’re real broke young adults, Paul!”

Shaking his head, he took a bite of an egg roll. “I guess. Hey, at least we’re not stuck living with Jane and Tom,” he replied. She leaned back on the couch and groaned. “You’re still mad about that?”

“I’m not _mad_. I just don’t fucking get it. Jane is so good, and that guy is just an asshole,” she ranted through a mouthful of noodles. “I can’t fucking believe she’s marrying that douche. You know he’s not over Becky Barnes.” She raised her eyebrows and pointed her chopsticks at him. “Mark my words. He’s stuck on that bitch.”

“I always thought Becky was nice,” he replied. When he looked up from his dinner at her, she was glaring at him. “What? Listen, I grew up with her before she went to Hatchetfield High. She was always nice.”

“Here I was thinking you were fucking smart. Turns out you’re just a big dummy, too,” she muttered into her carton of food. “But really, I can’t believe Jane is going to marry that guy. I just don’t fucking get it.”

“I don’t know. Things are weird sometimes I guess.”

“Oh yeah? Like you right now? Weirdo.” He shrugged as his only response as he popped open his container of Kung Pao chicken. They were quiet for a moment. A comfortable silence they had grown accustomed to over the previous years. Years. It was strange how the time had passed. And here they were. Together in a place of their own. He had always thought that when he lived on his own it would be in his own house, but there was something perfect about their little apartment. Maybe it was just her that made it feel that way. He felt happy. “Where’s your brain at, kid?” she asked, leaning over to steal a piece of chicken out of his container.

Once again, he shrugged. This time there was a smile on his face. “I don’t know. Here, I think,” he explained. She arched a brow at him. “I don’t know. I’m happy, I guess.” A snort left her. It was still a challenge to discuss the more romantic moments. They usually turned into a joke. She liked to deflect, but drunk Emma once told him that it was just because she didn’t know how to process the feelings. Sober Jane stated that was pretty fucking obvious. “What? I’m just happy to be here with you. Is that such a crime?”

“Yes, actually, it is. I’m placing you under citizen’s arrest. I’ve already called the cops so no fucking funny business.” She leaned in once again to steal another piece of chicken, which he pulled back from her. “Come on.” A big pout. “Just one more piece.”

“This is my last meal as a free man, and I’m going to eat it all.”

“Like hell you will! You never fucking do. Just… let me… have… one… more… piece.” She had put her lo mein down on the coffee table and was wrestling him across the couch with chopsticks clacking away in one of her hands. His long arms aided in keeping the food away from her, reaching back behind him well out of her reach. She was laid out on his side clawing at the sleeve of his shirt in a fruitless attempt to pull his arm back down. “Stop being so fucking tall!”

“Um, no,” he laughed, pushing her back by the chest with his free hand. “I can’t do that. How would we get stuff off of high shelves?”

“Keep it up, Matthews, and I’m going to move right back in with my parents.”

“Nice joke.”

“Right? I’m thinking about starting a career in standup.”

“I don’t know about that.” He finally gave in, stuck his fork into his container, and shoved a piece of chicken in her direction. Rather than taking his fork, she simply plucked the meat off with her teeth and chewed happily. “It’d be a very niche audience.”

“Well, you’d come to all my shows and laugh on cue.”

“Bold assumption that I’d be your groupie.”

“No, it isn’t. You fucking _love_ me.”

He grumbled to himself about how that was a cheap shot and that they’d see who’d be laughing once her comedy tour tanked. A satisfied grin perched itself on her lips as she backed off of him, but not before grabbing another piece of chicken while he wasn’t ready. He glared over at her while she munched on the chicken. “And for the record,” she said with food still in her mouth. “I fucking love you, too.”

\--------

Their wedding ceremony took place out on the rocky beach of Hatchetfield’s south shore. It was small. Quiet. How they wanted it to be. Neither sets of parents showed up because they hadn’t been invited. It was their day, and there was no time to be spent hemming and hawing over the unhappiness any one of those people would have brought to the festivities. Paul’s niece and Emma’s nephew were small. Little pattering feet on a floor of millions of pebbles. He stood at the end of the aisle, chatting with his very pregnant sister-in-law. His mind wandered slightly as she spoke, wondering what the future was going to hold for Emma and him. Wondering if there would be pattering feet in a house of their own one day.

She looked beautiful, which didn’t shock him. It was a far cry from what she looked like the first night he saw her. Not that he didn’t think she was beautiful then. Even with her poorly bleached blonde hair and eyeliner smeared under her eyes. Even drunk as a skunk and surprisingly forward. Everything about that night was as clear as if it had been the day before. How he almost left. How her breath smelled like cigarettes and toothpaste. How she was relieved thinking he must have had a girlfriend, which was a grade A joke. This was a different kind of beautiful. In a dress. Not even completely white. On top it was a golden yellow. Sleeveless and pulled in at her waist, flowy and loose in the skirt. The yellow blended down to the top of the skirt and gradually faded to white. She was tanned and her hair had been dark for years at that point, falling at her shoulders in chocolate waves. 

At her arm was the professor. Their relationship baffled him. Apparently, she had made several coffee runs to the old man when she worked at Beanies. He was a recluse and barely left his house except to teach classes at the local community college. That was where they really hit it off. She took the opportunity to retake an intro to biology course at a much cheaper rate than when she would go back to school in the fall. The kooky old man was her professor, and one week, he refused to come out, fearing the end of the world was nearing. That a meteor was going to hit the earth carrying a dangerous spore that would kill them all. She brought him groceries and left them out on the porch of his panic room house. They kept in touch ever since.

His brother nudged him in the ribs as he pressed a finger against the corner of his eye. Caught in the act of tearing up. He didn’t even care as Jack snickered in his ear. Not even when she stuck her tongue out at him when she saw him try to sneakily wipe a tear away before it fell. He didn’t care at all. There was nothing that could bother him in that moment. Nothing that was going to get him down because he was about to marry his dream girl. A thought that seemed out of this world to him. Absolute insanity. This had never been an option in his head. He figured he’d buy a house where he’d live by himself. Maybe he’d adopt a pet. Maybe a cat. Then he would be content and alone. But there they were.

They took pictures down by the water. Just the two of them. Wind blowing the tide in and her hair all over the place. As it turned out, they were no good at posing for photos. She kept making him laugh. Or he would send her into hysterics by trying to ignore all the hair that had blown directly into his face. The pictures didn’t turn out traditionally beautiful. No poses and statuesque moments. There were smiles with full sets of teeth and crinkled eyes. Photos that could be heard. The jokes and giggles. The crash of the waves. The breeze kicking up around them. Her favorite was one that had pictured him looking horrified as she died with laughter while fishing hair out of his mouth. His was of the two of them staring at each other with open-mouthed smiles and wide eyes because he had just roasted her over stealing half of his food every time they ordered. It looked more romantic than it was in actuality.

Their first dance was to _Whistle For the Choir_ by the Fratellis, which her sister was confused by because she was pretty sure that song was about a breakup. She had just flipped her off and said it wasn’t like that. It very well could have been about a couple splitting up, but something about it struck a chord with both of them. Not only was it music he could get behind, but she had to admit she liked it too. Just enough cheekiness to please her while also being of the ‘she’s out of my league’ mindset for him. The song was more upbeat than anyone would have guessed to have played, especially for him, but they twirled around a dance floor laid out in a renovated barn at the edge of a field bordering Chestnut Pond. She squealed when he lifted her up off the ground. He grinned when she gave him shit for having two left feet. 

“Listen, Paul,” Jane chuckled up at him during a dance she had dragged him into. _Harvest Moon_ by Neil Young. She still intimidated him. From that first morning onward. She had come home for the weekend, and Emma didn’t know that. They slept in late that morning after the Halloween party. He woke up next to her and breathed a sigh of relief that the night prior wasn’t some weird fever dream. Emma was curled up against him in just a bra and underwear, which immediately sent him from relieved to red in the face. Before he could even pray that she didn’t wake up to him wriggling uncomfortably in his jeans, her door thrust open. Jane stood there with wide eyes and a wicked smile. He couldn’t remember a moment where he wanted to die more than that one. “It’s nice to have a brother. Let alone, one as nice as you.”

He arched an eyebrow as he swayed around with her. “Yeah? You think I’m nice? That’s a relief. I was worried that your first impression of me had stuck with you all these years,” he joked. The champagne had hit his head a little bit. When they turned, he could see Emma at her seat with his brother, cackling over something that made him sit with a red face, clearly embarrassed. He muttered something back at her, to which they knocked their shot glasses together before throwing them back and slamming them back down on the table. Paul couldn’t even imagine what she was giving him shit for.

“Oh listen, that’s water under the bridge, man,” Jane assured him, patting his chest. “I wouldn’t hold the fact that the first time I met you you rolled out of my baby sister’s bed with a raging boner.” Closing his eyes for a moment, he let out a deep sigh. “You better believe you’re not going to hear the end of that one. I love ya, man, but that was the funniest shit I’ve ever seen. You looked like you wanted to die. To be fair, Emma did, too, but there’s just something really hilarious about you getting all red and mortified.”

“Wow, Jane, thanks,” he groaned, but he was still smiling. He was okay with getting shit from her. All things considered, he and Jane got along pretty well. They were similar in a lot of ways. Organized. Motivated in education. Hard workers. Thoughtful. Emma’s favorite people. They got on well and could really talk for hours at family functions. Even while Emma and Tom went at each other’s throats, the two of them would just sit and chat over dessert, ignoring the inability for their significant others to get along.

She looked up at him, watching his face as his gaze caught Emma sitting with her nephew and his niece. Though he supposed it was now their niece and their nephew. Strange how things changed. The children were entranced as she went on emphatically about something. Then there was a burst of giggles. Emma looked pleased with herself. He felt like he could melt. “Really, though, I’m glad you came around,” Jane told him. He glanced down at her. This time there was no smirk. No jesting. Serious. Happy but serious. “You make my sister really… I don’t know. Happy, I guess? It’s something more than that I think. I thought she was going to be unhappy and beat herself up forever over our stupid shitty parents. She never really listened to me. 

“She was nothing but trouble in high school. I mean, you saw that. You walked her home fucking plastered while she chain smoked. She deserved better than what she was getting. But she has a path now. She’s got stuff going for her, and I don’t know. Thanks for steering her in the right direction. There was this point in time where she kept talking about running off to Guatemala and getting lost in the mountains. She was miserable, and I was so worried she’d actually do it. Then I’d miss out on my sister’s whole life. And that… just felt bad, y’know?” He nodded, thinking about how things might have gone differently. There had been fleeting dreams about them together in different places. Mostly when they were older. Meeting for the first time while she slaved over shitty Beanies coffee. Living to see the end of the world. Feeling terribly like he was missing out on everything. “Just thanks for keeping her around, Paul. There’s no one who will ever be good enough for Emma, but you… you’re pretty damn close.” 

The joking smile returned to her lips. “God, I can’t believe you got my sister with the old ball and chain,” she chuckled. “I can’t wait until Christmas, so we can get drunk and I can make fun of her _so hard._ Married to the gangly boner boy from Halloween.”

“It sounds like you’re going to be giving me a harder time than Emma,” he replied, narrowing his eyes. She threw her head back cackling. Ah yes, the moment where they truly looked sisters. When they were tormenting him. “I can’t believe this. I feel like I got scammed into something here.”

“Listen, buddy, you’re a part of this family now. I’m your big sister now, too, and I’ve got a lot of years of shit giving to catch up on.”

“I’ll take it I guess. As long as I get extra eggnog on Christmas.”

“I can manage that. Just don’t get drunk and makeout with my sister in front of me again.”

“Deal.”

He and Emma found themselves outside at the end of the night, sitting atop an old set of wooden barrels with two half empty beer bottles. Neither one was entirely sure what time it was. Just that it was late. Well after midnight. They stared out across the pond in silence. Music and light quietly filtered out onto them, but the moon still shone brightly in the water of the pond. “I think we should live here one day,” she stated, taking a long swig of her beer. He looked over at her with a brow cocked. “What? It’s nice back here. Quiet. We’d have no neighbors. You can make me scream as loud as you want.”

 _“Emma,”_ he hushed, nudging her with his shoulder. She laughed heartily into her bottle. Teeth showing. Face crinkling up as she continued to giggle at his embarrassment. Even if she wasn’t blonde anymore and she had quit smoking years ago, she still had the same effervescent glow as that stupidly drunk girl who had peeked over the edge of her roof and beckoned him to sneak into her house. “Y’know, you’re the prettiest person I’ve met in my whole life.”

“Holy _shit,_ Paul,” she moaned as she shoved him right back. “You already got me to marry you. You don’t have to fucking butter me up anymore. Jesus Christ.”

“I’m not buttering you up. Oh my god,” he responded, taking a drink from his beer. “No, I just think you’re the most beautiful person in the whole world, and I’m _really_ lucky that drunk Emma has really questionable taste.”

She leaned heavily on his shoulder, sighing. “Oh shut the fuck up, you dweeb,” she mumbled. Her hand found his between them and entwined them together. “You know that’s not true. I’ve got great taste. You fall into that… because you’re, like, my favorite fucking person. Don’t tell Jane. Because I love her, but it’s different.”

“God, I sure hope it would be different.”

“Oh my _god,”_ she laughed without moving. They both gazed out across the pond again. It was a quiet June night. Everyone inside was getting wasted. It was hot and smelly, but felt like something familiar nonetheless. They had both decided they needed some air. This was a good way to do it. Shooting the shit as they usually did. “Cut it out, nerd. You know I love you big time.”

He smiled down at her. “Love you, too, Margot.”

 _“Paaaaaauuuuuullll,_ cut it _out!”_


End file.
